Chapter 2

Mark's rooftop party should have been beautiful. Brooklyn's skyline glittered against the darkening sky, string lights crisscrossed overhead like fallen stars, and the gentle hum of conversation floated on the warm evening air. I smoothed down my pastel cocktail dress—a safe choice, nothing like the red dress that had witnessed my world shattering just days before.

I spotted him immediately. Ryan stood on the terrace, champagne flute in hand, his tall frame silhouetted against the city lights. Beside him was a woman I'd never seen before, her posture perfect, her blonde hair catching the golden glow of the string lights. My chest tightened, a vise closing around my lungs. This had to be her. Charlotte.

"Jessica!" Mark appeared at my side, kissing my cheek. "So glad you made it. Come, there's someone I want you to meet."

Of course there was. I let him guide me across the rooftop, each step bringing me closer to the man who had held me in his arms just nights ago, only to casually announce he was marrying someone else. I fixed my smile in place, the same one I'd perfected that night—pleasant, unbothered, a perfect lie.

"Jessica," Ryan nodded when we approached, his voice maddeningly neutral. No hint of our shared history, no flicker of regret in those dark eyes. "I'd like you to meet Charlotte Hayes. My fiancée."

The word cut through me like a blade. Fiancée. So formal, so legitimate. Everything I had never been.

"It's lovely to meet you," Charlotte extended her hand. Her grip was cool and firm, her smile poised. She wore an ivory jumpsuit that probably cost more than my monthly rent, accessorized with pearls that had likely been in her family for generations. "Ryan's told me so much about you."

I doubted that very much. "All good things, I hope," I replied, the platitude falling easily from my lips.

"Of course," she laughed lightly. "You're one of his oldest friends."

Friends. Is that what we were calling it now? I caught Ryan's gaze over her shoulder, but his expression remained unreadable. Three years reduced to 'friendship' with a single word.

The conversation drifted to safe topics—the weather, Mark's new apartment, the catering. I sipped my wine too quickly, grateful for the warm numbness it spread through my veins. Charlotte dominated the conversation with stories of her family's summer home in the Hamptons and the charity gala she was organizing. I nodded and smiled at all the right moments, playing my part flawlessly.

As the evening progressed, I found myself trapped in Charlotte's orbit. She linked her arm through mine as we moved to the bar for refills, her gesture seemingly friendly but somehow possessive.

"I'm so glad we're getting this chance to know each other," she said, her voice dropping to a confidential tone. "Actually, I have something I'd like to ask you."

The string lights overhead cast shadows across her perfect features as she turned to face me fully. "Would you be one of my bridesmaids?"

The world seemed to stop. The background chatter faded, and all I could hear was the thundering of my own heartbeat. Be her bridesmaid? Stand beside her as she married the man I'd given three years of my life to? Watch as she received everything I had ever wanted?

"I know it might seem odd since we've just met," she continued, oblivious to my internal collapse, "but Ryan speaks so highly of you. You're important to him, which means you're important to me."

My throat constricted, but I managed to nod. "Of course," I replied, the words scraping past the lump in my throat. "I'd be honored."

"Wonderful!" She squeezed my arm, her smile triumphant. Across the rooftop, I caught Ryan watching us, his expression intense and unreadable. For a moment, our eyes locked, and I felt the familiar pull between us—that invisible thread that had always drawn us together. Then he looked away, and the moment shattered.

Later, as the night deepened and the alcohol flowed more freely, someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare. We gathered in a circle of plush outdoor seating, the city lights twinkling below us like a carpet of diamonds. I found myself seated across from Ryan and Charlotte, forced to watch his hand rest possessively on her knee.

The game moved quickly around the circle—harmless truths and silly dares that had everyone laughing. When it was Charlotte's turn, she chose truth with a demure smile.

"Tell us something about your relationship with Ryan that no one knows," Mark prompted, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Charlotte's laugh tinkled like ice in a crystal glass. "Well," she began, her eyes darting to Ryan briefly before returning to the group, "Ryan and I are keeping things traditional. We won't be consummating our relationship until after we're legally married."

A murmur of approval rippled through the circle. Someone commented on how refreshing their old-fashioned values were. Another praised their restraint.

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, burning hot against the cool night air. Traditional. Unconsummated. The words echoed in my mind, a stark contrast to the memories of Ryan's hands on my body just nights before. The distinction was crystal clear—what we had shared was impure, illegitimate. What they would share would be sanctified, proper.

"Excuse me," I mumbled, rising quickly. "Bathroom."

I fled across the rooftop, not daring to look back at Ryan's face. In the small, mercifully empty bathroom, I gripped the edge of the sink and stared at my reflection. The woman looking back at me had bright eyes and flushed cheeks—she looked alive, normal. How was that possible when inside I was crumbling to dust?

A knock at the door startled me. "Just a minute," I called, splashing cold water on my face.

"Jessica?" The voice on the other side wasn't one I recognized immediately. "It's Nathan. Ryan's brother. Are you okay?"